Trip to Brevard turns into adventure

Carolyn and I headed to the mountains to visit Dolores who has a summer cottage near Brevard, N.C.

If you go through Greenville on the Interstate, it’s a fairly short ride.

Dolores says she makes it in four and a half hours.

We didn’t.

We had detoured from Bluffton via Estill and Girard to Augusta to take daughter Anne Elizabeth and her family to celebrate her birthday.

After lunch, it seemed logical that instead of going up to Columbia on the interstate, we would drive across Augusta to Furys Ferry Road which turns into Highway 28, then become Highway 221 past Clark’s Hill Lake, that fisherman’s paradise created by the Corps of Engineers in 1951 when they built the J. Strom Thurmond Dam.

According to Wikipedia, at 71,000 acres, it is the third largest artificial lake east of the Mississippi. To compare size, Daufuskie Island is, give or take, 5,000 acres.

As you speed along the interstates, it is easy to forget that there are roads running parallel to connecting towns and cities, municipalities that to the interstate driver are only names on exit signs.

On the back roads, we cruised along at a most sedate rate, admiring cotton fields in full bloom, lush green plants covering acres we thought might be peanuts and delighting sometimes in having the entire highway to ourselves.

Going along at a slower pace is an invitation to explore and we noticed a number of state parks along the way, turning in at the first one near Plum Branch, the Hamilton Branch State Park.

Unless you count the white pick-up truck that was heading for the exit, there was not a soul to be seen at any of the wooded camp sites along the shore of Lake Thurmond.

We drove through McCormick wondering if it was named after Cyrus, a pretty little town whose main street straddles the railroad track.

Not long after, we found ourselves in Greenwood, whose native son is the well known Hootie Johnson of Augusta National fame.

We got lost. Don’t ask.

It was getting late. It had been a long day. I was tired and we decided to spend the night at the local, very comfortable and friendly Greenwood Hampton Inn.

In the morning, we continued our travels on U.S. 25 and passed Hodges, Ware Shoals, Princeton and Woodville. We passed Furman University, Paris Mountain State Park and just outside Travelers Rest, we passed a fruit stand advertising South Carolina peaches.

I made a U turn.

And that is how we met Mr. Clarence English.

When he found out where we were going and which way we were gong, he took exception.

“You don’t want to go that way,” he said emphatically.

He walked me to the edge of the road, talking and pointing.

“See that road right there?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Well, take that road, go to the stop sign, turn left, go over the overpass and keep on going until you meet U.S. 276. It will take you straight into Brevard.”

Then, he added, “you can’t miss it.”

“Give me your cell phone number,” I said.

And he did.

I had no idea that cellphones didn’t work in the mountains.

With our peaches, apples, the most delicious of tomatoes and a jar of blackberry honey tucked into our cooler, we left.

Mr. English stood on the roadside watching.

We followed his instructions explicitly. Everything went fine. Then we got to the road that goes up to Caesars Head.

This is a road with drop offs and switchbacks and as many curves as a manic telephone cord.

It goes up and up and up.

For about nine miles we went up through some of the lushest, greenest forest I have ever seen.

Beyond beautiful.

We got up to Caesars Head State Park and stopped for a picnic lunch at a table on a ridge with a spectacular overview of the Blue Ridge Escarpment.

Awesome. Dolores’s house was 10 minutes away.

If you have a hankering to see this out of the way part of South Carolina, go.

If you have any questions, I will be glad to give you Mr. English’s phone number.

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